Drafts of ideas for KuroFai
by Trial of Ash
Summary: Just drafts...nothing concrete...but let me know if you would like to see a development of one of the drafts within. Thanks!
1. Chapter 1

**Scribbles for KuroFai: **

The rain soaks through the uniform he is wearing, clotted and heavy with mud and water and someone else's blood. The torrid gunfire from both sides of the enemy lines has yet to cease, and he is hiding between fragile vertexes of broken walls, watching his comrades raging forward into the pits of hellfire. But he isn't joining them, there is someone waiting for him behind enemy lines, Haylan stare hard through the crumbling dust of the rubbles fallen by blind grenades and intense machine gun fire, past the gray grim world he is trapped in right now and tried to envision his lover, still waiting…still waiting in peaceful lands…calling him…calling him home…

~.~.~.~.~

I find myself stopped by the look you have in your eyes, that look puts me at a crossroad once again. I don't know if you were aware of this hunger in me that can't be satisfied, that I will always be running. Don't pull the reins too tight on me because it will only snap back to you. How long have you been waiting? You look so much older now. I hope the years have been kind to you when I have not.

These deep welts of pain…you haven't been able to let go…or was the pain there because you have to let go? How many times have I told you that I was not deserving of your love? Your misty eyes told me you never understood. Don't you see it? Hold my hands then…do you feel the weight of your devotion between my fingers? These hopes you carry in your heart, I will only ever be able to repay them with guilt.

My love…my love…you will never flourish with my presence. You will only wither. Take a deep breath, feel the winter air in your lungs. The ice is melting. Spring is coming. Love, ponder upon your moment of melancholy…I don't ever want to see you crying the tepid tears of regret. The end of each pole is never shrouded in darkness, reach for the light, love, and walk towards it. Your heart is young and I am gone…so long…so long ago it has been.

Your warm clammy skin rises and falls beneath my fingers. Are you battling your nightmares again? But don't be afraid my love. The darkness is fading soon and the cold mist of dawn is approaching. I hear you whisper my name. I feel it ghosting across the surface of my skin. I sigh. You cannot hear it…

~.~.~.~.~

Like the favonian winds blowing across the land, your presence wraps itself around me bringing the scent of spring, which infuses with the scent of yours. On the roof top, the windsock flaps and twirls and the golden brown hues of the wheat field, bends and waves as the movements of the wind sweeps past the hanging spikelets at the tip of each stalk. I am waiting for your return from the march of war since last winter past, your letters crumpled and yellow in my hands like the sunset viewed from the south. I have heard the whispers of defeat spreading through the lands. The town folks here view me with pity in their eyes. I resent their lack of belief in your promises. Where are you dear? The loneliness is getting so loud that I could barely hear myself anymore…

~.~.~.~.~

He picked up the cigarettes Fay loves to smoke and lit one. He rolled the tip of it between his thumb and index, feeling the firmness of the filter, brought it to his lips and sucked. The fumes crowded his mouth, acrid, dry and pungent. Why did so many consider this a pleasure? He breathed in the smoke and felt the airy substance choke up in his airway, swallowed it, coughing all the while as his lungs absorbed the toxics within. He took another puff, deeper and harder, aware of the dizziness that was causing a strange sort of lightness in him. Nothing strong but it still manages to tilt his world a little. Was this what Fay was always looking for, this lightness of being? As the chemicals flowed through his body and mind, he starts to understand why. Humans are weak against themselves he guessed, sometimes, a little help and damage incurred on the body strengthens you instead. We all crave that numbness sometimes.

-+-+-+-+-+-

"Was that the real reason why you didn't stop Fay from moving out?" Kurogane asked as he buried his head within his hands, voice wavering "was that why you were so angry when I mended our relationship?"

George walked to the window and stood there looking at the sprinklers out in the garden, the fine spray of water created an abstract array of rainbows in the air. It was sad that life was not like the cheerful colors of those rainbows, and they were no longer able to look through life through rose-colored glasses. How would he answer that? He could kneel forever infront of the lord questioning what want wrong, asking why the fates of his children were damned from the start, but the sins of his children are his to carry. He has no right to question. He has no right to demand for neither mercy or justice, only to bear the passing of his family's secrets and the deaths it carries with it, silently and alone.

"I'm your father and both of you are my sons…how do you expect me to accept this?"

-+-+-+-+-+-

The frail skinny figure with blonde hair moved around the apartment, as if he was in the midst of doing whatever he would on a normal day at home. But if one were in the apartment with him, one would immediately see what was wrong. His quiet mumblings filled the air around him, occasionally interrupted with a soft tinkling laugh, undisturbed by the fall of hair covering the front of his face. He seems to be in a conversation with someone. He seems not able to register the fact that he lives alone and that the apartment was currently devoid of visitors.

His apartment cleaned barely a week ago was in a complete mess again. The take away boxes were thrown all over the coffee table and the kitchen counter, the food inside moldy and in the process of rotting. The man was unconcerned by the smell emanating from those inconspicuous boxes, walking pass them as if they weren't there. The television had been switched on for days on end, the sounds of talk shows and dramas broadcasted back to back provided the man an inane sort of comfort. His hair was starting to mat and grease and his body stank of sweat, he had not showered or bothered to brush his teeth. He doesn't know what is wrong with him.

He feels like he is forgetting something but he can't remember, so he keeps asking himself questions, posing them aloud. It's been days and he still wasn't remembering. He needed to ask his brother something, that he was sure of, but what? And why wasn't his brother here yet? He is awfully late. Maybe he should call him…where was his phone…what is his number?

~.~.~.~.~

We grew not into the names of our families, but the names that were given to us. It was a burden inevitable. We cannot go back to what we used to be. We can only get use to a relentless life full of someone else's expectations, which have been paved out for us since our grand entrance to life. They schemed to render us slaves for their wants. In the process of shouldering the responsibilities, we have learnt to forsake desire. How long do we have to wander these labyrinths of hallways and doors that never lead to anywhere? We are becoming men who are desperate for the youth of yesteryear, not for the fear of age but for the fear of forgetting what had been important to our hearts. But the night never lasts and the sun always sets too soon…As we stand at the edge of this leering cliff of choices, our tremulous limbs chained to its worldly earth, we mused on the possibility of an impending end. But light is here, birthing another new dawn. We understand that the masks have to be back on, and we shutter our eyes, souls, minds and hearts to face the lives of those strangers who comes…

~.~.~.~.~

I looked at the note, following the clumsy loops and scrawls that scribbles into a line on the parchment, making each word unreadable by the end of the last three alphabets. I don't have to understand all of it to know what you are trying to say to me. Simple words…if I were anymore ignorant, they might not have possess that much of strength to hurt. But it did. I traced my finger over the ink, felt the uneven surface of the parchment, the intensity and intentions of the words you have written. The parchment smells of the aftershave you like, there is even hints of what you had for breakfast. I imaged you pondering on what to write during and the why did you write it. Of course, it was the best for both of us, you would say. _It is always for our best interest. _I believed it three years ago. I don't now.


	2. Chapter 2

This is just a draft and its unedited…inspired by a poem from E.L.F, I read some time ago:

_**The Language of Silence – **_

_There's a silence that speaks in the deeply dark eye;_

'_Tis a soul-breathing eloquence lent from on high,_

_To picture those feelings, to language forbid,_

_As it droopingly bends 'neath the shadowy lid, _

_There's a silence that speaks in the mute falling tear;_

_Ah! It breathes deeper anguish, more sorrow sincere,_

_Than the voice of affliction, in love's deepest wail,_

_Did ever pour forth, the soft heart to assail, _

_There's a silence that speaks in the deep heart-felt sigh;_

_Ah! It echoes a mute half concealed agony;_

_And the darkening shadows that flit o'er the brow, _

_Betoken the sunset of happiness now._

_There's a silence that speaks in the varying smile:_

_Who hath not felt the endearment, the wile, _

_That those vivid circles that o'er the lip play,_

_With the light flash of lightning, our feelings portray,_

_There's a silence that speaks in the low hectic tinge,_

_And the brilliancy sparkling beneath the dark fringe;_

_And the throbs of heard to beat in that fast fading form,_

_Tell a far sadder tale than the lip could have borne._

**The Language of Which the Heart Speaks **

_August, 2000_

The people here rejoice and sing about the simplest things in life. They celebrate how the rain falls, they dance to thank god for the food that keeps them strong, they rain blessings on their children, who will need to survive them, when age and time make their claim on their beaten old bones, they are grateful towards the meager bounty that Mother Nature had bestowed on their dry barren lands. They know how to not take things for granted, and they accept that life, while harsh, can also turn out to be good. The men walk about with slippers made of crude rubber or car tyres and mostly bare-chested, their women walked around with their head piled high with buckets full of laundry, their children clinging to their sides, munching on some kind of brown roots, colorful beads carefully stringed together dangled from their necks and wrists, their handcrafted jewelry holds a strong contrast to the thin fabrics they wear on their backs and wrapped around their waists. He used to think that the exquisiteness of those jewelries was a mockery to the reality of their poverty. But he has learned enough to know now that they are markers of their identity and heritage. They consider it an honor to be able to wear them.

He sits atop the slope and feels the hot wind traveling across the village. He watched the emaciated cows at the bottom grazed on whatever tiny patches of grass they come across, and amused himself by watching the children frolic about, naked as their day of birth on the dusty ground. Their mothers working the grains, infront of their homes with rusty knives and the occasional aluminum pots they managed to purchase from the mobile weekend markets. The younger and more able men of the village hang around the borders of their land with AK-17s, bought from the black traders, hanging on their shoulders, keeping a watchful eye towards the horizon of flatland miles away, ready to sound the alarm should any military trucks are spotted. They can never be sure who are really on the trucks. In the heart of this thriving land of nature, those unaccustomed can only see heathen pandemonium ready to abrupt.

He doesn't see it that way. Life is profoundly simple here. He wonders how long he will stay this time, before the restlessness pounces upon him again, before he feels the need to rush elsewhere to try to be a savior for another cause, which has nothing to do with his life and would most likely not make a dent should he choose to live any differently. He knows the poverty, the hunger and the corruption will never cease, and they were only changing enough to maintain hope to motivate themselves. The outlook is grim whichever way, and everytime when he was faced with the results of the work of similar people like him, he feels the idealist dies a little more inside of him. But the simple humdrum of these village people make a difference to him. He enjoys their simplicity. They don't ask for more but they don't ask for less either. Their contentment makes him contented. It makes him stop questioning himself on why is he doing all this when he has a family back home waiting for him.

If he dares to be honest, he might tell those who dared ask, that he chose this not because he has a noble bone in him, or, that he has compassion for the less fortunate, but because it allows him to escape from the mistakes that he is unable to make right. Out here, he is able to input some meaning into his existence. He can make peace with himself and forget about the judgments waiting for him at home. He admires the men in his team. They are real and are pure in their intent. They are the ones with true passion for this kind of work. They live and breathe for it, and at the end of everything, they are able to feel truly accomplished. For him, he thinks it is never going to be enough, and that he needs to do more. He needs to continue until he can no longer feel the guilt weighing down his soul, until the shadows stop graying his heart.

His group has another month before reinforcements arrive, and then, he is allowed to leave. But he isn't sure if he wants too. He is thinking of accepting the offer from Peace Corps. After all, he hasn't got much to return to. He runs his hand across the ground he is sitting on and feels the ancient soil sift through his fingers. He breathes in the air around him and smells the goodness of heavy earthiness in it. Indeed, he does love this place. There is a rhythm to life here, and albeit the possible dangers lurking in the corners, the surety of the rhythm soothes him. The sun rises and sets exactly at five – forty five exactly, fires are raised and food cooking by six, and he would watch the red of the sky bleed away to be replace by dark purple. Then he would sit with his team after the day's hard work, around the warm bonfire and sip dark bitter tea, and they will talk about the drama of the day as they consume raw slice bananas with rice, and sometimes, meat cooked with ghee served with a huge portion of mufo.

There are also other reasons why he had come to love this land with its dreaded dark shores. He smells the bloodshed spilled on it from all her wars, but he also senses the hope of her people. He knows her history, understood the causes of her fall and feels pain for her lost glory, and he thinks, maybe Africa would understand why he wants to stay.

**~ :: ~**

_April, 2004 – Somalia: Mogadishu_

Fay grumbles about the ground he lands on when he exits from the jeep, and moans about the state of his leather boots as he threw a hapless glare at his partner. She shrugs her shoulders in an off handed manner, and the looks she gives with her molten amber eyes, suggests that he better get used to the conditions here. He doesn't need any reminding, he knows very well what they will be doing here. Still, he was not prepared for the arid humidity that assaulted him. He feels the smote of the sun on his skin, and he realized despairingly that the sunblock lotions he had brought along are going to be pretty useless. He sniffs at the odor of perspiration from the people around him, feeling suffocated from the musty sourness of their scent and squirms to get the stickiness of his shirt, wet from all the sweat pouring out of his pores, off his back.

He was not enthusiastic about this from the start, and he isn't sure if he will last through his stint now that he is here in person. He sighed in resignation. He knows Yuuko well enough to know that she will never let him off the hook for this one. He's already misses the beautiful coastline of Somaliland, where they had first landed and stayed at for their first week. He marvels in trepidation and disbelief at how different the country is from just across the opposite border.

"Get moving." Yuuko said as she bumps hard into him, deliberately, with her duffel bag.

"Could you just stop behaving like a Mary-Sue for a day?" he retorts in jest as he watch her walk ahead, flipping him off in respond.

He follows her past the entrance of the village, and immediately feels the villagers' eyes focusing on them. Pupils dark and unfathomable, it makes him even more tense and nervous than he should be. Yuuko doesn't need to elaborate why they are weary of newcomers around their area. They are well briefed on the political situation before they are posted here. Conflicts between the country's rival factions trying to bring about an Islamist ruling have placed peacekeepers in dangerous situations, and unlike Somaliland and Punterland, Mogadishu still maintains a critical and unstable political environment. Terrorism, ethnic and clan fighting occur on a daily basis, and while their presence here brings much needed help, it also brings the dread of bloodshed to the villagers. They may be located at the outskirts of the capital, but they are fools if they lulled themselves into thinking that they are safe where they are. Already, he had seen plenty of military might displayed along the way and skirmishes that nearly broke into gunfights. Needless to say, the journey here was fraught with tension and fear. They were medical stuff, not soldiers. They have no inkling of how it feels like to kill another human being, even if it is to ensure their own survival.

After a fifteen minute walk into the heart of the village, Yuuko stopped infront of a decrepit brick house with sheets of rusting zinc as its roofing. Fay could see past the front door to the middle of the courtyard from where he is standing at the gate. He didn't think the layout of the house can provide much security should guerilla soldiers with trigger happy fingers comes hunting for victims. He also thinks that the man, who opted to stay here and front the show, might very possibly be a loony.

"Here's HQ." she announced without much fanfare before striding into the house uninvited.

Fay follows with unsure footing and seriously in doubt of the efficiency of the place which Yuuko calls, the local hospital. He watched Yuuko dumps her bag on the dusty floor and plunks herself down on a rickety looking bench before bellowing for someone called Kurogane, presumably the person who was supposed to meet them at their landing place.

"Kurogane!" she called out again voice laced with impatience, as she brushed at the strands of dark moist hair plastered uncomfortably at the side of her neck.

Further back, from an extension of the hut in a similarly decrepit manner, he heard a muffled response, a loud clanging sound and hurried footsteps, before a tall guy with short, spiky jet black hair and dark crimson eyes, dressed in a worn white tee-shirt, fraying at the edges, and dark brown cargo pants appears. He is holding a dead chicken, still dripping blood from the neck, in his right hand and a beaming smile on his face.

Fay immediately thrashes all thoughts of the guy being a loony, because in all seriousness and despite this being the most inappropriate moment and place to have such thoughts, he might be the hottest guy Fay had ever met.

"Babe! You got here in one piece!" he cried out voice deep and just a slight raspy, as he leaves the chicken anyhow on a counter by the wall, and strides towards Yuuko within three steps before bending down to envelop her in a bear's hug.

Yuuko grinned and returned the embrace just as heartily, a wistful smile on her face. Fay observed their little exchange and noticed that there is a private moment between them. He has never seen her so open with anyone before, not even himself. He wonders if they had some sort of a history, and if there are going to be some awkward moments ahead. He doesn't really fancy the idea of being caught in between ex-lovers trying to deal with the aftermath of a break-up. Though he supposed that would not be possible since Yuuko was back at home for more than six months. Fay thinks that should be enough time to deal with a break-up. Strangely, he does not remember Yuuko ever mentioning about a boyfriend. There was a period when they first met and he suspects that she was a lesbian after he witnessed a drunken kiss exchanged between her and Samantha, another housemate. She had beaten the idea out of his head one week after the incident when he stumbled upon her, naked on the couch with a gorgeous stranger, in their shared apartment. Said male gorgeous stranger had such a rock hard body, that he had Fay salivating and lusting for days after.

Yuuko pulled away slightly and gave Kurogane a hard jab with her elbow right in his ribs, smirking as he grimaced and grunted in pain.

"That's for not being on time to pick me up!" Yuuko drawled out darkly.

Sometimes, the way Yuuko is makes Fay thinks that she would make a great dyke, if she were ever to bat for her own team. She is always just a tad too butch compared to the rest of the female species, but that, he guesses, is also what makes Yuuko such a cool person to hang out with. What with her weird sense of humor and in-your-face attitude.

"Yuuko Tyrrell! When will you learn to respect your brother! I was hard at work making dinner for you!" Kurogane protested against the rough man-handling he received from his sister.

"Dinner can wait! What if our vehicle was hijacked half-way? There's no help around for more than a hundred miles!"

"I'm sure with your might those midgets have nothing against you." He replied, though Fay can't tell from his tone if he was horsing around or not.

"This is nowhere near funny." Yuuko deadpanned.

Fay only half listened to their bickering. He had never heard Yuuko speak about her family at all, and he is surprised to learn that her sibling is also working for Peace Corps. He wonders if he should be just a little mad at Yuuko for withholding this kind of information from him, then again, he reminded himself that nobody ever says everything.

"And you must be Fay Flowright!" Kurogane said, perhaps a little too loudly, jarring Fay out of his musing with the volume of his voice, and the glint he caught in crimson eyes, hinted that that may have been done on purpose. It's kind of comforting to know that Kurogane shares the same level of subtlety as Yuuko, which it to say…none at all.

"Yeah, hi! Nice meeting you." Fay replied with a lop-sided smile as he reached out with his right hand, taking care to avoid the one that was holding the dead chicken earlier, for a handshake.

A person's handshake tells a lot about themselves, and Fay has a hobby of studying them. He is immediately intrigued with Kurogane's. He noted how Kurogane kept his arm close to his body. That is a sign of a person who isn't willing take risks, and yet, chose to work in a country perpetually at war everyday of the year. His grip was warm and firm but his eyes were detached while looking at him. His hand was dry and his fingers cradled Fay's hand fully, confident and strong, but within milliseconds the grip softens before the hand falls away. It was as if Kurogane's initial show of strength was only a mask, which he doesn't know for how long he has to keep on, before he decides if the person he's meeting, is safe enough to see the real him.

Fay lets his hand fall back beside him, and they stood around wondering what to say next when Yuuko walked to the counter, picked up the dead fowl and turned to them with a devious smile.

"So, what about dinner?" she chirps. As always, Fay knows that is a tone that never bodes well for him.

~ :: ~

Aziza, whom Kurogane has appointed as their cook and cleaning women, is warm and bubbly, and her ebony skin shimmers and glow under the glare of the sun as her hand gesticulates wildly about as she speaks. She babbles on and on, in heavily accented English, about life in this god forsaken place, and how happy she is to see them as she skins the chicken efficiently. She is doing a much better job than what Fay could have done. He is guessing that she took pity on the way Yuuko had bullied him into the job, and that he was struggling with the dead bird just now, either that, or she simply doesn't like the idea of her dinner being fooled around with.

She tells him and Yuuko how happy she is to know that there are others who still give their sorry state of affairs a time of their day, or, lives for that matter to make sure that they can have a better life. Sometimes, she gets a too excited and switches back to her mother tongue. Fay is not that well versed in Somali, but he reckons he understands enough to catch the gist of what Aziza is saying, so he nods politely at everything she says. Kurogane and Yuuko, however, are fluent in the language and every once in a while, they crack up some jokes in a dialect which he isn't familiar with, and watch Aziza double over in laughter, tears in her eyes, and dead chicken parts jostled all over the chopping board. He watches them with a soft smile as he busies himself slicing up the sweet potatoes and tending to the rice and beans cooking over the fire.

As the sky darkens, and day progresses into night, the other members of the group starting flowing through the front door, back from a hard day's work of tending to ailing villagers, and those caught in the crossfire between fraction soldiers while out in the city. He was introduced to all of them one by one, and he notices that Yuuko already knows them all. It strikes him then that Yuuko had been here before. He looks across the table and tilt his head in inquiry. Yuuko answers him with a pleading look, and he knows her well enough to understand that's her 'I'm sorry but can we talk about this later?' look. He gives her a sideway nod in understanding, and goes back to getting acquainted with the other guys.


	3. Chapter 3

**Criminal Intent**

He could try but there is a certainty in him that he would extract no confessions of any sort from his suspect tonight. The man was amazingly stubborn and resilent. He had assumed the methods of interragation would have broken him by now, forty-eight hours of intensive questioning with not more then a 15 minute gap in between would have burned anyone but not him. He was contemplating methods that were more physical now. He observed the man through the looking glass, trying to spot any weakness that one might be more likely to expose once alone. He found nothing, just a cool mask of detachment even with fatigue written all over the angular sharp features. The suspect's crimson eyes looked back into the tempered glass, seemingly knowing that someone was standing behind it, with an façade of superiority that no prisoners should by displaying. He was flagrant in his defience of their authority over him. That in itself was an amazingly intriguing characteristic. The man had no fear. Perhaps he was foolhardy, perhaps he knows better that nothing more will be done to him. They didn't have concrete evidence of his involvement with the group and since it's past forty-eight hours, he was due for release soon. But he wanted the facts and he wants the mastermind to the attacks on their nation's financial centre.

This case is monumental, not only to the CIA but also to the nation, which citizens were still mourning in grief. The bombing had been called one of histories most organized, cold-blooded and colossal terrorist's attack. Maybe the country had it coming but if anyone should pay the price, it should not have been its citizens, but the people who sits in the safety of the oval office, who had made the decisions that influenced the outcome of history so callously. Nevertheless, it was not his concern. His priority was to find the answer for those who had lost their loved ones in this senseless attack. He glanced at the clock hanging on the wall and clenched his jaw in frustration. In half an hour's time, he would be watching the man walk away, scot free.

He tilted his head and signaled with a nod to someone standing in the corner of the room, the ebony skin man dressed in a black suit so dark, he had blended in with the dark planes of the shadow that enveloped that part of the room. Dean strode forward to his superior and stood behind him quietly, waiting for further instructions to be given.

"Keep him under tabs, 24/7. Make sure he doesn't have the opportunity to leave the country." Fay said curtly and retrieved the file on the table, handing it to Dean's outstretched hands.

"Yes sir."

"And make sure that his living quarters and office kept under serviliance too."

"Definitely."

"I want him nailed no matter what the cost."

Dean frowned slightly before nodding again. He wondered why his boss was so keen on this man. Apparently, records had shown that the man was in the clear. The only thing that had stained that perfect record was because his company had significent dealings with the company one of the mastermind's family member owned. No doubt the huge amount of transections proved to be dubious at some point but K.R Inc only deals with investment properties. What could be so suspicious about that? The only thing Dean could think of was that Kurogane Ryuichi was privy to the residential details of the mastermind's family members.

"Stop questioning my motives, Dean." Fay said softly as he looked at his subordinate run through his thoughts. Dean was that transparent. Sometimes that part of him had proved to be a liability at critical moments. Still he had kept Dean on his team because of the man's unfailing tenacity in the face of adversity and of course, he was scrupulously honest too. Dean startled with a quirk of his eyebrows before leaving the office with a sheepish smile.

Fay turned his attention to the suspect and carried on with his observations. How could someone who had been born into the bourgois classes of the society carry with him such confidence and such sense of bone weariness that a common businessman would not had experienced before? The body he had was not one who had lived in the comfortable embrace of luxury, it was also not someone who had claimed to have been living in Japan for more then half of his life. This man was a soldier, it was telling from the way he behaved. Those crimson eyes…their gaze hard and guarded and piercing to a uncomfortable level as they looked back at him, made him itched to uncover what lays beneath that rough exterior. Fay badly wanted to know which organization he belonged to and as to what his intentions were for going undercover, these are the important loopholes that he has yet to have an answer to.


	4. Chapter 4

**Love on the Streets**

He rolled the dollar bill into a tight tube and stuck it in his nose as he bent down towards the glass counter, the fine lines of white powder are promises of a numb ecstasy he craves so much. He gave a hard snort as he went through them within seconds, and leaned back onto the chair, waiting for the endorphins and adrenaline to hit him. He still had a few minutes to spare before the night starts, and he hopes the men are more generous tonight. His pockets are running thin, so are his supplies. He got up to change as soon as he felt the effects kicking in, the palpable energy flowing through his body made him feel like a million bucks, made what he was about to do much easier to face.

He picked out his outfit for the night, a black satin vest, a pair of tight black jeans that showed off his legs and arse, and a patented glossy waist length coat that wraps around his body tight enough to accentuate his slender frame, but never enough to protect him from the cold that swipes through busy streets of Los Angeles at night. The coldness that was not due to the temperate but to the indifference borne by the night crawlers in their part of town. He scrutinized himself in the mirror, this outfit always gave him the right look, slutty yet modest enough to suggest he isn't a hustler. It helps when the cops are out swiping the streets. Times are bad. Tricks are getting lesser and more difficult to handle. Everyone is looking for something 'more affordable', even for a meaningless fuck. His on-line services as a rent-boy, which he had posted on an anonymous website, wasn't faring much better too.

He pocketed his keys and stuffed the rest of the notes he had left into the sides of his boots, wondering the whole time as he walked out of his apartment building, if he could manage to keep away a little of his earnings tonight without Rico's knowing. He wasn't owned by Rico but, he is working on his part of the street. He won't move elsewhere because Rico, as dangerous as he is, is by far considered one of the most powerful ring leaders in downtown L.A, therefore, also the one who ensures the most protection. As long as he pays his henchmen what they demand, he will be fine. When he doesn't have enough, he throws in a few sexual favors in return. It's a workable compromise that both sides are willing to accept and he's surviving well enough.

As he approached his corner of the street, he saw a familiar mute black limousine waiting. It's his lucky night then. T.J, a wealthy businessman who prefers to keep a low profile on the salacious parties he has on the side, has always been a welcomed client. He's a big old guy with a generous hand towards his favorite escorts, and his parties are to die for with a never-ending supply of snow and bowls of weed distributed indiscriminately to anyone who's there. It's even better if you get to share his bed, one night and you can be off the streets for at least a month. Yeah, that's how generous the old bastard is. It's not without a price of course. He's a violent man in bed. Fay is one of the few who are willing to take what he doles out behind closed doors.

He strolled casually towards the car and tapped on the dark tempered window. The screen came down and, Enrique, the one who always dealt with T.J's little_ indulgences_, signaled for him to get in. There were already four others in the car, just as young and beautiful as he is. Two of them he knew, they work on the same street as him, a girl sat beside Enrique enduring his fondling with a sour face and a transvestite sat on the other end of the same seat. They acknowledged each other with nary a nod, only a calculating side-way glance. They were all rivals tonight, and they want the biggest fish in that pool which they would be swimming in. Fay pities their petty schemes, T.J never fail to ask for him. It's a given that he is on the list. He wasn't proud of that, but he knows the newcomers won't be able take the rough handling. Unlike him, they haven't been at the bottom yet. They haven't experienced what real pain was.

"Hey babe," Enrique drawled as soon as he had settled himself in the car, "you gonna git' me sum'thin tonight?"

Fay cringed at the horrible accent and ignored him. Enrique is a fucktard and he doesn't want his greasy hands on him.

Kurogane watched the blonde hair boy stumbled out of the luxurious limousine and crumbled onto a nearby bench. The well dressed boy looked like he was in pain. A lot of it. He fidgeted with the strap of his sling bag and glanced at his watch anxiously. He's going to be late. He was about to go forward to offer help when he saw another boy step out of the car, this one was older, his face full of make-up. He had a niggling suspicion on what they were. He had seen plenty of them ever since he's moved here. He watched the older boy helped the blonde hair boy up and into a dank stairwell that led up to a decrepitated building. He scrunched his nose a little, imagining what the living conditions must be like in there, if it looked so bad from the outside.

He could see why the landlord of these few buildings would want to shake things up a bit. But the truth was no matter how the façade changed, nobody was going to purchase any property in this part of L.A. It was too gritty, too full of people living desperate lives and unless the municipal office intends to dislocate the _hidden_ homeless who crowd the streets here, nothing is going to change.

Kurogane had long learned how to count his blessings. He was lucky that he didn't have to live life on the streets, being adopted by a well-to-do couple when he was young assured him of a well-paved life. He has a Master Degree in Architecture from Princeton University and is now working in the company he wanted to develop his career in. His adoptive parents doted on him and gave him everything he wanted; life has been good to him. He hailed down a cab and hopped onto it, giving instructions to the driver on the directions to his home. Although he had been here for more than half a year, he still couldn't say he's ready to call this city his home. He lived in Upper East Side, Manhattan for the most of his life, and later on in New Jersey while he was studying in Princeton. He wasn't accustomed to this other side of life that was being exposed to him, and he has never been exposed to it either. His days in the orphanage were also no longer, all that remained are fuzzy images.

"Do they have snow there...at the party?" he asked as he sniffed again.

Kurogane turned and looked at him with a small frown, "It's in the middle of summer, where am I supposed to get snow for you?"

Fay laughed.

Prep-boy from upper Manhattan is obviously too good to be true.


	5. Chapter 5

**The Guilt of Love**

"Happy Tenth Anniversary, honey!" Yuuko exclaimed happily, along with the dozen more other guests squeezed into their living room, as soon as Kurogane stepped over the threshold. Her husband's face of pleasant shock and then the self – indulgent grin just made the efforts of planning the party worth every single minute of stress she had experienced for the past week. She knew it wasn't much but it should make up for the time she took off their life for the sake of her career. Things weren't going well any more between them if she has the courage to admit it, but somewhere down the line when she has reached the peak, she realized that there is no one but him standing by her. Ten years is a long time and a lot of things have fizzled out between them. Despite seeing the deterioration of her marriage, she is still divided about what she has to give up.

"Thank you, Yuuko. I really wasn't prepared for this." Kurogane said with a loopy side smile and gave himself a once over, and then a quick greeting to the guests who were still looking at them. He then dug out the exquisitely wrapped box and gave it to her as he whispered I love you into her ear, hoping that it still sounds sincere enough. He was beaten at work and if not for his assistant, he would have forgotten about this important day completely. It also didn't escape his noticing what it meant when it was his assistant who remembered such dates rather then him. Somehow during the years, he had got accustomed to shrugging off such thoughts regarding his marriage. It always felt like he was coming home only to start living someone else's life. Though it was a routine he is tired of, he didn't want to consider the other option either. He was used to it. They both were. They could keep pretending that they are still a perfect couple, still pretend to make love with empty passion and still pretend that they were the same person they married years ago.

It was a ruse that still worked and for now, that is all that counts.

And while their friends are here they will play their roles of the perfect host and hostess this evening. They will mingle around and share gossips on politics and celebrities, they will drink and wink at each other from across the floor trying to tell everyone that they are still capable of flirting even after ten years together and they will still regale their friends with made up secrets on how to keep the fire in a marriage going even when the fire had died out years ago. Then at the end of the evening when everyone has retired and gone, they will sit on the opposite end of the couch trying to make small talk about the party that has just ended, trying to gain back the solidarity they once had. But the conversation will fall apart and trickle to awkward pauses of silence and as he stands to switch off the lamps and head for bed, they will both be aware of how futile everything is.

They were only actors hanging on to the script of a show that made them famous once, still repeating the dialogues that were no longer interesting to an audience made up of their insecurities and the frustration of feeling an unspeakable emptiness.

The turning point of his life, he supposed was literally a breath of fresh air. He welcomes it without hesitation and was only mildly surprised that it was a man who caused such feelings to stir in him. He had never thought himself to be gay. At least not until now did he consider the possibility. But then who could deny such beauty? He was glad that he had fortitude enough in him else he would be swooning like some girl facing her favorite idol. He barely heard his boss making the prerequisite introductions to his new colleague; he was too busy staring at those pair of sinful lips and eyes with the color that encapsulates the essence of the deep blue sea.

Blondie only produced a cheeky smirk and said something so naughty to his boss that it left the man red faced and sputtering. He snapped out of it only when his boss gave him a nudge hard enough to bruise his ribs for days on end. Blondie gave him a disarming smile before pushing by him and leaving him to follow in the dust of his footsteps. He realized as he watched him walk away that he hadn't paid attention to anything that had been said and, therefore, spent the rest of the day trying to remember what Blondie's name was.

As it turns out, Blondie will be working with him in the same department. The new Product Development Manager, Mr. Fay Flowright.

Fay really had to put everything in him to stifle his urge to giggle. He didn't want to make a fool of himself on his first day of work. No doubt that Kuro…something guy…will make sure he isn't the only one who is making a fool of themselves at work. Fay knows he is good looking. He just never met anyone who would be so enraptured by it.

The man was discretely stealing furtive glances at him when he thought he wasn't looking. He sort of enjoys it. Because that Kuro-something guy was really devastatingly handsome and from what he could tell from the way his suit clings to his body, he was pretty well built too. Most importantly, he was Asian. And he does have a thing for Asian guys, especially for such a tall and exquisite specimen.

He deliberately looked up and stared straight into dark crimson eyes, after being stared for the umpteenth time that day. He really couldn't stand the tension building up within him. Those smoldering looks were making him very horny. But he has to behave. He could go to a pub to pick up someone else after work. No need to look for unnecessary trouble and office roma…flings…were never good news. That he had learned from painful experience.

Not that the other party was at fault. He was too flighty to settle.

Three months down the road and Kurogane was starting to feel that he might just be a little bit gay after all. Blondie still looked as delicious as ever, and if possible was looking even more glorious each day. He has a certain _je na sais qoui_ that he found so god damn appealing. Never has an incentive been that encouraging for him to get to work. Today was no different as he sat on the opposite of Blondie,

"I've always favored a ménage à trios." Fay teased laughingly as he watched Kurogane's face turn beet red and choked on his beer.

He had never enjoyed love in all its light hearted spirit before. Love with Yuuko is only a series of well practiced scripts, advancing pass levels as if they were going through a whole life time of entrance exams. No glorious foolish claims of romantic feelings and without the rush heady giddiness of it, and no

"I lov…"

"Don't…Kuro…"

It was an impulse of the heart that led him to this encounter, it was beautiful while it last but everytime when they embrace there was a cold wind that blew through his heart, a chill that mocks him of his falsely created dreams. His hold on Kurogane is no longer strong, his hands would tremble as his heart weaken. In the end, he will still choose to leave and the ones whom he had loved will always be locked by his warmth.

He wasn't sure if they will ever find the passion they once had, he had no confident and neither does he have the yearning for it. How does one know if the person they fall for next will be the right one? Doesn't marriage goes through phrases, don't couples work things out, spent the next fifty or sixty years together if they're lucky? But it's just that gut feeling that tells him that Yuuko will never be the one. Once, they held the world in their hands when they were still in their early twenties, hopeful and idealistic. But it's all gone now and everything is different. He can't see the road ahead, not even two years into a future with her.

He's looking for something else now. He wants commitment that doesn't need the assurances of a piece of paper, where love doesn't include compromises and folded dreams underneath the pillow. He wants someone who knows the freedom of love, someone who knows that love doesn't discriminate the youthfulness felt by the heart.

"I'm just the wrong kind of guy for you."

"And that makes it harder for me to let go."

"Wouldn't you wanna damn my charm?"

"Fay…"

"Kuro, I'm the kind of person that will make an excellent lover…but a partner…I don't know if I can be that for you or anyone else for that matter."

"What can I do to convince you?"

"It's not you. I just can't believe in forever…and you…"

'_You make me want it too much for everything to fall away.' _Fay thought.

~.~.~.~.~


	6. Chapter 6

**Sometimes In Life…**

He took a deep breath and held it for as long as he could, not yet wanting to believe that six years worth of memories and togetherness could be swept away so easily with a few callous words. Why should he be the one facing abandonment? It was him who is the third wheel in their lives; his existence was irrelevant and contemptuous. How could Anthon embed himself in Kurogane's life in just barely a year after they met? He was losing Kuro to a mere stranger and there was nothing he could do to stop him from leaving. He could not bear the lost, in just days everything familiar would be gone from under his feet. He swirled the bitter taste of rejection in his mouth, the dark taste of defeat and loneliness, acrid and sour, like a glass of Shiraz that has been left to air for too long.

So he chose to disassociate himself from the pain, withdrawing from the daily grind of life, what justifies his reasons for pushing reality aside…he had no idea. Whatever, it was infinitely better than knowing or remembering the pain inflicted upon his heart. He used to snort in disdain when he was told that one might never love again when a great love has been betrayed, he could not even empathize with those people. He can now. This raw emotion that rushed through his being provides no respite. It digs deep, twists and scars even the most jaded of hearts. The force of denial is rendered useless and numb drunkenness, which provides temporary relief, only brings back the pain twice fold.

He sat staring at the photo album, flipped open on top of his lap. It chronicles their domestic life since they began living with each other. He viewed it like how he would to one of his case studies, objectifying and marginalizing each little story told by the tiny frames of still life captured. It did nothing to lessen the pounding of his heart, the fragile cracks that were spreading and breaking apart the raw pulsing veins and, the wreath that was establishing its roots as acknowledgement of the betrayal settled in. As he glanced through more reminders of their happier days, the impact of the betrayal hit him harder. Was this the punishment that he deserved? He used to find thrill in carrying out a betrayal, the danger and the unknown consequences of the future excites him. Whether the betrayal was directed to his friends or lovers, he basked in the knowledge and fact that he was not living a dull existence. He couldn't bring himself to accept that what he had already conquered is now being snatched away from his fingertips.

He knows very well that he could not live without Kuro's love. He thought about what he would become if he ceased to know love. He probably would rust and empty out until he was like an old vessel devoid of any similarities to a living entity, and that there isn't a greater tragedy than this. He needed Kuro to be back by his side and he was even willing to grovel for it. But Anthon is no fool. He knows exactly what kind of man Kuro is and how worthy he is, and Anthon, being the manipulative bitch that he is, would grant no mercy to him. For Anthon…love has always been a fair game for all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's notes**

These are not drabbles. They are part of the drafts I have written for my story 'The Continuality of Existence', I just wanted to post them up. The actual story may or may not head in the direction as written here.

_Kuro-san _

_I am not sure how to pen this letter. I am afraid that courage has deserted me again. It is not my wish to leave but I think it is for the best. Despite your assurances and everything you have given me, I need some time still. I know it is a selfish request and I do not expect you to wait. I am not sure how long will I be gone or when will I be back. I am not even sure if you will wait at all...maybe I have overestimated my importance in your life. _

_Time is what I need right now. I want to be able to find a direction of my own and I don't think I can do it under your shelter. I need to know how far I can go in life. How much of me am truly left behind. I don't want you to think that you're the reason for it, though I might say it is largely due to you. I dare not ask for your forgiveness for this digression of mine. Please understand why I could not leave an address behind. I do not attempt to be elusive but I would like to be lost to you. If not, you will pull me right back into your warmth. I have such difficulty staying away from it. _

_I want to stay...stay and not move, and not feel that restlessness whispering to me in the dead of the night. For all the things I have left behind and said goodbye to, I am weak against myself, still pursued by the indefinable sense of the past. The absence of my soul has now become an unquestionable presence and I realize I would have to confront it sooner or later. I think you could make use of this period of time to sort out your own confusion and find the peace in your heart. _

_There are some words that I wish I could say. Yet I know by saying them, it would make this parting even more difficult than it is. I bid goodbye in writing because I might waver if I were to say it to you personally. _

_I will miss you..._

_Fay_

_ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo_

His kiss was lingering...soft and gentle on his lips...feather-lite. But the love towards him was felt intensely with that barely there graze and that made his legs weak. He let his hands wander along the buttoned column of the shirt before fisting them near the collar clinging to them like a life line least he fall. Kurogane murmured words that he couldn't catch before pressing those sensual lips against his again, tongue flicked out...a shy dip in between the lines of his lips before withdrawing fully. Fay leaned forward, a barely suppressed moan on the absence of warmth around him.

Kurogane had to bite himself on his inner cheek to remind himself to keep his cool. It wouldn't do to scare the blonde with his too ardent advances when he had already managed to get this far.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

I didn't realize that one could be the author of their life...pushing the blame of my misfortunes and strokes of bad luck to other faceless people.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Though he knew she was hardly mad to begin with in the first place. He was condemned by the society he was born into. No one would seek to understand his truth because his words hold no substance...substance...that's what they thought of him. Nothing real, just floating down there in their paths, in their everyday lives.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Freedom...the word terrifies her. She wonders if she could really survive outside after having been cooped here for more than half a decade? She had given up the idea of ever attaining freedom, her life was here now...within these aesthetic white walls and of course her beloved old friend.

He was her only contact with the outside world that is so disjointed to her now. She loves to hear him talk about his other life that existed outside of these walls, glad for the attention and immensely grateful to know that someone sees the truth.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Coming home...he thought he would never return to a place that cradles the grave of his cold grey heart. But the blonde has returned and despite having buried his heart more than six feet underground, he could still feel it struggling to come alive. The pulse was weak and erratic but each kicked harder, stronger within the hollow boned coffin it was encased in.

He still loves him after all these years. Every memory he had of him was still fresh and vivid in his mind. It was as if everything had just happened yesterday.

Suddenly, that thought made him panic. It made him feel that the two long years of his self exile was not long enough. He should have enough sense to stay away. Now, he was placing his heart on the line again, taking the risk of suffering from another collapse.

But...maybe...just maybe...he might feel alive once again.

He remembered what filled the gaps of his life during these two years, echoes of long lonely nights, meaningless conversations with strangers and relationships that never managed a beginning or an end. He was tired of all those things.

For so long he had been trying to run away from his feelings, hoping that if he ran far enough the chains of endearments would break. He would be free. He was a fool. The chains only got tauter, jerking him back to that ambiguous middle ground, and left him floating within the vast empty space where only cold silence enveloped him in that darkness. He never did want to be free from the bond that connected him with the blonde. He had already enslaved himself right from the start.

He was reluctant but glad to feel that fluttering halts of his heart again.

If he was given a second chance at life, he figured it would be worth it even if it was going to cost him his entire being.

It would be worth it because Fay was his everything.

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

Fay sat on the frigid hard plastic seat, fidgeting restlessly about. He wondered how much preparation he needs to get him ready for this meeting...and than laughed bitterly internally when he realized he will never be ready enough.

Two years...does the man still hate him? Has time placated the pain he had caused, has it healed his scars? He hopes it has, if not, he would walk away and forget everything that has happened between them. Even if he would be utterly miserable, he knows he will survive it, just like how he survived every little tragedy that has befallen him.

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

There was something about the man with clear blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair that catches his attention. He tries not to think about the real reason on why was he here again or exactly why is that man so god damn attractive to him. He walked towards the blonde with intent clearly shown in his eyes.

Seduction...it is a power game that the weak finds no resistance against. No matter men or women, they always fall to the temptation. Their hearts given freely to the ones they think should own their world. Of course, the players of this cruel game want no part of. They only seek pleasure and once their prey succumbs, the game ends.

Pity the one who gives all...

The pretty blonde gave him a coy hesitant smile as he approached, swirling the straw around the glass absent-mindedly. Kurogane smirked when the blonde beckoned for him to occupy the empty seat beside him. He could tell the blonde was easy...all the better he thinks because he does not need to deal with the guilt when the night ends and it was time for him to go.

_He_ might share the same sentiments, Kurogane thought sardonically...or maybe it will only be utter disgust towards his _decadent _ways. Than again...why should _his_ opinions matter anymore?

It's amusing...the way Kurogane sees it. No matter how warm the body was beneath him or how desperately they cling to him, mumbling their empty words of love.

They could never be _him._

ooooooooooooooooooooo

Fay reread it again, recognizing the feelings that the red eye man felt towards him. His heart twists and soars and drops again in the bottomless pit of the black hole that exists in his being. He wants to fall...so badly. But he doesn't trusts himself. He didn't think they can escape from their feelings for each other unscathed and whole.

ooooooooooooooooooooo

Jamie seethed and raged and threw whatever he could lay his hands on towards the red eye man. He couldn't believe his audacity! Who does he think he is? Some stupid whore! How dare he use him and than throw him aside like some worn out mannequin? He deserves much more than this!

"Jamie, stop it." Kurogane said his voice calm and collected without even a hint of remorse, cold even.

"Don't you fucking say a word! I'm not stupid! What do you think I'm? You motherfucking son of a bitch!" Jamie shouted, pissed that the man could still be so un-emotive at this time.

"Jamie, you are giving me a headache."

"And you're breaking my fucking heart!"


End file.
